“I think you exaggerate very much,” said Orsino.  “There is always risk in such business as this.  But it strikes me that the risk was greater when we had less capital.”

“Capital!” exclaimed the architect contemptuously and without turning round.  “Can we draw a cheque—­a plain unadorned cheque and not a draft—­for a hundred thousand francs to-day?  Or shall we be able to draw it to-morrow?  Capital!  We have a lot of brick and mortar in our possession, put together more or less symmetrically according to our taste, and practically unpaid for.  If we manage to sell it in time we shall get the difference between what is paid and what we owe.  That is our capital.  It is problematical, to say the least of it.  If we realise less than we owe we are bankrupt.”

He came back suddenly to Orsino’s table as he ceased speaking and his face showed that he was really disturbed.  Orsino looked at him steadily for a few seconds.

“It is not only Ronco’s failure that frightens you, Contini.  There must be something else.”

“More of the same kind.  There is enough to frighten any one.”

“No, there is something else.  You have been talking with somebody.”

“With Del Ferice’s confidential clerk.  Yes—­it is quite true.  I was with him last night.”

“And what did he say?  What you have been telling me, I suppose.”

“Something much more disagreeable—­something you would rather not hear.”

“I wish to hear it.”

“You should, as a matter of fact.”

“Go on.”

“We are completely in Del Ferice’s hands.”

“We are in the hands of his bank.”

“What is the difference?  To all intents and purposes he is our bank.  The proof is that but for him we should have failed already.”

Orsino looked up sharply.

“Be clear, Contini.  Tell me what you mean.”

“I mean this.  For a month past the bank could not have discounted a hundred francs’ worth of our paper.  Del Ferice has taken it all and advanced the money out of his private account.”

“Are you sure of what you are telling me?” Orsino asked the question in a low voice, and his brow contracted.

“One can hardly have better authority than the clerk’s own statement.”

“And he distinctly told you this, did he?”

“Most distinctly.”

“He must have had an object in betraying such a confidence,” said Orsino.  “It is not likely that such a man would carelessly tell you or me a secret which is evidently meant to be kept.”

He spoke quietly enough, but the tone of his voice was changed and betrayed how greatly he was moved by the news.  Contini began to walk up and down again, but did not make any answer to the remark.

“How much do we owe the bank?” Orsino asked suddenly.

“Roughly, about six hundred thousand.”

“How much of that paper do you think Del Ferice has taken up himself?”